Stranded
by Hetalia Hijinks
Summary: AU. Arthur, a medical student had decided to take a trip to Zimbabwe to help the poor and underprivileged that live there. Unfortunately for him, his plane doesn't think so. He crash lands on an island with nothing but the clothes on his back and his trusty satchel. Nothing, that is, other than the other 3 members of the FACE family. Rated K plus for now!


_June 22_

_My name is Arthur Kirkland. I have started this journal to record my progress with the people of Zimbabwe. It is my intention to start a hospital on the banks the Zambezi River for the people that cannot afford a doctor elsewhere in the country. I plan on starting this hospital sometime in the next four years. Until then, I will do all I can to aid the doctors and nurses currently there._

Arthur closed the notebook sharply with that last sentence, the leather cover snapping against the crisp, white pages. He clicked his pen once, and stuck it into the pocket of his slacks. He carefully tucked the little book into the front pocket of his satchel, then picked the bag up with his right hand and pulled the thick cloth strap over his head so the carry-on hung on his right side and the band crossed his chest. The bag was new, recently purchased from an online shop. It had shipped just three weeks before, and the cloth was still stiff with whatever soap they had used at the factory. Arthur cherished it as it held everything important he owned: his laptop, various chargers, his important documents, which included his ID, birth certificate, and passport, and an emergency medical kit.

The kit was a gift from his favorite professor and was finely crafted, practically hospital grade. It was blisteringly white with a large, red cross emblazoned on each of its six sides in shiny, fire truck red paint. The box itself was made of a strong, but surprisingly lightweight metal alloy, very durable and sturdy. The items inside were various staples of medicine: some bandages, rubbing alcohol, hydrogen peroxide, a needle and thread, Neosporin, ace bandages, scissors, iodine, and other supplies. He had gotten it as an end of year present a couple years ago, and though he hadn't had a use for it yet, he still appreciated the gesture and treasured it, although it sure had been a pain to get through the airport checks.

Arthur pulled his phone out of his pocket and turned it on for a brief second, checking the time, before turning it off and slipping it into his jeans. The phone, too, was a gift, from an old college girlfriend. It was top of the line when it had been purchased a few years ago, and even though it was somewhat worn, with a few scratches on the screen and chips on the back and sides where it had been dropped, it was still a pretty good piece of machinery. Unfortunately, Arthur had forgotten to put any games on it before he left home, and as he was almost over his monthly data limit, he couldn't use it to search the web or download anything until he got to some wifi. As a result, he was bored as hell waiting for his plane. He sat impatiently, tapping the fingertips of a pale hand against his upper thigh. It felt like he had been sitting on that bench forever. In truth, it was less than an hour, but the lack of any sort of stimulation made it feel like an eternity.

Suddenly, Arthur remembered what else he was keeping in his knapsack. He reached into the large pocket on the front of his bag and pulled out a small, black hardcover book. It was old, and its pages were yellowed slightly at the edges where Arthur's hands had flipped through them over the years. Its binding was well worn, and in places where it was falling apart, it had been taped back together with beige medical tape. Arthur leaned back against the bench and flipped the book open to a page roughly in the middle. He then pulled out the old piece of yarn that he had been using as a bookmark and laid it on his lap. He began to read silently from the novel, his emerald eyes flicking back and forth across the page at high speeds. He had read this book so many times he practically had it memorized, but it didn't matter. Arthur was content to sit and read and wait, and he did just that.

The novel was entrancing: _Robinson Crusoe. _Arthur adored the story. His mother had read it to him as a child, and though he didn't understand it then, he definitely did now. It had to be his favorite book in the world. He was practically an expert on the novel, he had read it that many times. Arthur enjoyed a good story more than a good show, actually, and he sat there with that book, immersed in the plot until he was interrupted by a nasal voice resonating from a speaker just above him.

"Group C, seats 30-45, now boarding." Arthur looked up in surprise. He'd been so engrossed in the book he had missed the other two groups. It was a good thing he was seat 42 and not seat 14. He stuck his book in the same pocket as his journal, then stood up and grabbed his overcoat from where it had been laying beside him on the metal bench, folding it in half lengthwise and hanging it on his right arm. His bag was still hanging on his torso, though it didn't stop him from searching for it for a couple seconds before he realized. Arthur then looked around himself for a moment before spotting his gate to his left. He walked briskly toward the line that was forming quickly and queued behind a stately platinum blonde woman in an expensive-looking dress and mink coat.

"Yo Matty, the line's over here! Dude, hurry up!" Arthur turned around at the sound of a loud, tenor voice. It belonged to a young man, taller than Arthur with dirty blond hair and tanned skin. The teen looked athletic, and his biceps bulged slightly through the thin material of his t-shirt. He was also wearing a pair of jeans, ripped at both knees and his right thigh. His shoes were ordinary sneakers, with a Nike logo emblazoned on the tongue of each one. The young man was breathing slightly more heavily than average, probably from exertion, and held two, mid-sized suitcases, one in each hand. The bags were both bright red with white trim, and looked less than brand new. They had scuff marks all along the bottom, mud splashes on the sides, and scratches on the edges where the red met with the white. The teen speed-walked to get into line behind Arthur, just barely cutting off a family of four. He exhaled loudly and set the bags on the ground on either side of him.

"Alfred, you shouldn't have gone so fast! That could have been dangerous! You could have run into someone!" said another teenager as he walked in front of the family, interrupting himself four times to apologize quietly to each them as he passed. He scowled at the other man and stood beside him, holding one black bag of his own. This teen was slightly shorter, though that may have been because he was slouching. He had paler skin than the first and curly blond hair that went to his shoulders. His eyes were a vibrant violet, very different from the other boy's ocean blue eyes. Despite this, he had a very clear resemblance to his partner, with both of them having the same facial structure, the same small nose, the same rose lips, and the same general physique. He wore an oversized crimson sweater, and a pair of navy blue jeans with plain chocolate-brown boots. He held two slips of paper in the hand not occupied by his black suitcase. The other man, Alfred it seemed, laughed a little and clapped a bronze hand on the other's back. The smaller one lurched forward with the force of it.

"Bro, sometimes you gotta go faster than a snail if you actually want get somewhere on time. Besides Matty, it's not, like, a big deal or anything. People gotta move to get what they want." He smiled at the other, shorter teen and patted his back twice before removing his hand. The ash blond sighed.

"I just think that it's rude to cut in front of so many people when we're not actually in a hurry. You should have let those women go in fro-" The boy, Matt, was cut off as Alfred began to talk excitedly again.

"Come on dude, the line's finally moving! Let's go!" He lifted both of his red suitcases easily, a bright smile still on his face from before. Matt rolled his eyes and frowned, his lips drawn into a thin line. He shook his head and sighed heavily as the dirty blond beamed at everything around him. Matt used the hand with the slips of paper in it to grab two small, brown books from inside the pocket of his sweatshirt. He held them out to Alfred, who pretended not to see them. Matt sighed again, exasperated, and slouched a little more, still holding his bag in his left hand and the teens' tickets and passports in his right.

Arthur had been watching and listening to the whole exchange and smirked a little. The two men were obviously close, and might have even been brothers, they looked so much alike. He turned his attention back to the front of the line and started moving forward, pulling his ticket and passport out of the pocket of his overcoat and he held them in his right hand. He stepped sharply as the queue progressed, keeping pace with the woman in front of him.

Arthur's journey through the line was very short and easy, and he boarded his flight in less than five minutes. Granted, it was probably because he was fourth from the front in the line, but it was still a very pleasurable experience. Arthur made a mental note to give this particular airline a stellar review on his blog for just the overall sense of comfort and security he got from it thus far. Once he got onto the actual airplane, he found his seat easily. It was next to a window, and he sat down into his chair, putting the bag onto the floor and between his legs after he did so. A tall, blond man walked quickly up the aisle towards his row. The man had his hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, tied with a royal purple ribbon. He wore a simple white dress shirt and black formal pants, along with a black tie and formal, black dress shoes. He carried a black suit jacket in one hand and a mid-sized, blue suitcase in the other. Arthur watched him as he stored right up to his row. The man checked his ticket, then looked up, directly at Arthur.

"Ah, excuse me monsieur, but would you 'appen to know where seat 41 is?" he asked, gently. His voice was like butter, smooth and warm, and Arthur pinned his accent as French.

"Oh yes, that would be this seat, here," Arthur said, patting the plush armrest of the chair next to him.

"Merci," the man said quietly. He placed his suitcase into the overhead bin carefully and sat down next to Arthur. Then, he reclined his chair to the fullest, which was only about two inches, and spread his legs wide, taking up as much space as he could in the cramped row. He exhaled audibly, and turned to face Arthur.

"Looks like we are going to be spending quite a few 'ours together, yes? Allow me to introduce myself." He cleared his throat for a half second and held out a thin hand. "My name is François Bonnefoy." Arthur took the other man's hand in his own and shook it firmly, smiling as he did so.

"Arthur Kirkland. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance." They shook for two seconds longer, then dropped the other's hand in unison. They then both leaned back against their seats, facing forward again. Arthur began to tap his hand on his thigh again, and glanced at the other man out of the corner of his eye. François looked similarly impatient, his pale pink lips pressed into a thin line. Silently, they sat there for several minutes, neither one speaking as they waited for their flight to take off.

François moved his legs back together, his ankles touching and he put his hand on his left armrest, the one next to Arthur. He inched it forward slowly, and after about fifteen seconds, it was dangling just above Arthur's leg. Arthur's breath caught in his throat as the other's pale fingertips dipped down and began to stroke his lower thigh, the backs of those long digits raking the rough material of his slacks. He almost wanted to ask the man what exactly he was doing, but before he could get the words properly put together in his brain, a thin Asian man walked past them in the aisle and the hand was quickly removed and placed back onto the armrest. Arthur glanced up from his own leg at François and saw a small smirk playing on his face. The other was staring straight ahead, purposefully avoiding Arthur's eyes. The Asian man that had walked past him was now directly in François's line of sight, and he cleared his throat twice. Arthur faced forward, breaking his personal staring contest with François's mouth.

The man at the front, dressed in a steward's uniform, cleared his throat once more and waited. As soon as he thought he had gotten enough attention, he began to speak about the rules and regulations of their particular flight and what to do in case of an emergency. Arthur had heard this spiel many times from airline folks, and even though it was pretty much the same thing every time, he still paid close attention to exactly how he could get off the flight in case of a crash. He knew the odds were astronomical of that ever occurring, but as a medical student himself, he felt it was his duty to listen carefully lest the unthinkable occur. After all, who knows when the next disaster could strike?

The whole demonstration only went on for a few minutes, and once the man was finished, he bowed his head slightly and rushed to the back of the plane. Speaking had obviously made him uncomfortable, as Arthur could tell from the slight flush on his face as he passed. The man leaned back into his seat once more, his head and neck on the headrest and both of his arms each on their own armrest. François had removed his own hand from the shared spot, thankfully, and Arthur took up the whole of it with his own arm. He turned to the other man.

"Um, Mr. Bonnefoy?" he asked, hesitantly. François turned to face him.

"Oui?"

"I'm feeling rather tired. Would you mind waking me when we arrive?" The blond smiled warmly at him.

"Not at all, Monsieur Kirkland. 'ave a pleasant rest." Arthur nodded his head in thanks and turned back to the front of the plane. He let his head drop back and closed his eyes. After a few minutes, he had fallen into a deep sleep.


End file.
